All things must come to an end
by Em
Summary: All things must sooner or later come to end. Kinda like the title, huh?


All things must come to an end. By Em Disclaimer: All characters are the property of J K Rowling. I'm only taking them for a little spin. Enjoy.  
  
The encroachment of the thick shadows permeated a feeling of unrest, revenge and of despair. The darkness was only held at bay by the glow of bright torches that hung from the walls. Even these were ominous as they danced mockingly at all who passed by. The shadow danced around them, not allowing the light to erupt forth and illuminate the whole passageway. It was as if the darkness was feeding on the torches, drawing energy from them until it was powerful enough to attack. The ground was hard and cold; its surface wasn't smooth, instead it was jagged and uneven. The edges of the paving stones stood up as if intent on tripping those that dared to walk upon them, intent on harming, on causing pain. The air, thick with dark was stale and putrid. A stench hung stagnant and retched and with each breath the urge to vomit had to be quelled. This was not a pleasant place, this was the last place Harry wanted to be, this was the hallway to hell and in front of him was the very gateway. The door to Voldemort's chamber.  
Tentatively he reached out his hands and pushed the great oak doors open. They first began to protest with low creaks and groans, as if warning him that beyond his doom awaited, urging him to go back. Then the large brass hinges began to scream in mockery, echoing the desperate calls of the damned. And then there descended a silence so thick that even the shadows feared it.  
The chamber itself was much like the hall, except vast. No ceiling could be seen as a black shadow hid it from view. A cold chill flowed fast from some unknown source of ventilation as if its purpose was to freeze the very blood, the very life from the unwelcome, like a hateful whisper into your ear. Directly in front of him there was a dais which held a crude wooden chair complete with red velvet upholstery, but it was not empty; it occupied lord Voldemort himself. Crowded around him, clothed in black as if they were the very shadows themselves, were the Deatheaters. His loyal subjects of pain, his courtesans of darkness, his army of devils, his faithful followers; a twisted mockery of king and court. Inside Harry had never been more scared. He wanted to turn, to run, to hide from the monsters that lay before him, that plagued his dreams. The urge to cower pulsed through his veins and the very core of his being, but he stood his ground. His breathing was deep, fast and haggard and to his ears the sound of it filled the hall. Slowly and steadily he began to step forward, his hand wrapping gradually and surprisingly firmly around his wand. In his mind all he could remember was the pain that this beast had caused and that within the next few minutes he would be in pain and soon dead too. Although in his heart he knew of his doom and even though he feared the end, the unbearable pain, the whole confrontation; he went on. It wasn't because he wanted to, it wasn't because of some vendetta of revenge, it wasn't because he was expected to do this, it was however because it was the right thing to do. He didn't want this; he'd never wanted this. Nevertheless he had it and he wasn't going to back down.  
"So you've come." Announced the Dark Lord; his voice crusty. Around him the Deatheaters turned to face the new arrival. "I didn't expect even you to be that stupid, not even your father was. Then again you were brought up by worthless" He paused as if the word was hard to say, "Muggles." His voice rang out, tinged with disgust. Then he turned to the side to spit hatefully at the ground, as if to rid himself of the saliva that had been contaminated by such a word. "I wouldn't expect anything less than stupidity" another intermission, where he took a grating breath, "and of course," he paused again, whether for dramatic tension or a loss for words Harry didn't know, nor care. "Blind Gryffindor bravery." Each word punctuated with contempt. The mini speech at an end Harry felt as if he should say something, something witty or snide, but he was at a loss for words. To actually speak would involve that 'blind Gryffindor bravery' and he wasn't feeling very brave right then, in-fact he was feeling frightened and very small. None the less he replied.  
"Lord Voldemort," With a mock bow and a sickly sweet smile plastered upon his face (in tribute to his silly past teacher Gildroy Lockhart) he continued "So nice to finally meet you once again. I've heard. so much about you." The Dark lord smiled a twisted smile as if he was in great pain and it hurt to move, but this was not so.  
"All good I hope?"  
"It really depends on whom I've spoken to." Harry stopped and glanced from minion to minion before continuing. "I trust your hospitality towards guests hasn't changed?" His inquiry was harsh and dry.  
"Never. I treat my" Another deliberate pause, "Guests" The word was stressed and hummed of ridicule, "as I always have done."  
"That's very good to hear, I wouldn't want to feel.unwelcome."  
"What could possibly give you that impression?" The dark Lords voice resonated surprise.  
"It was just a thought. Don't read too much into it."  
"I won't." Then with a nod of his head followed by another twisted smile, the Deatheaters began to form a loose circle around the two and barred the great doors shut. "I trust" Voldemort continued, "that you've decided to stay."  
"I have no other engagement." A few moments passed and then Voldemort stood. Purposefully he stepped off the dais and slowly bowed. Harry followed suit, his head was throbbing painfully, mainly from the curse scar, but he went on nonetheless. They raised their wands.  
  
. "Stupefy" "Crucio." Two balls of light shot through the air, lighting the cavernous hall and beating back the dark that tried to smother it. The startled screeches of bats echoed through the rafters above. They both dodged them and then raised their wands to shoot off another curse. Harry looked at the creature before him. His eyes were red and within them the torchlight danced. He looked as if possessed by some foul spirit. The skin on his face was hard and smooth and shined slightly, like a patent leather shoe. Yet it also looked stretched. Large scales encroached upon the neck and lower face, their very unevenness casting menacing shadows and making it look more grotesque. In the semi darkness of the room the face looked horrific. He took a deep, calming breath and began.  
"Chok don di zamling. Chi thon pa di zamling. Tya wa nay chih log pa." The world stilled and for a moment nothing happened and then Voldemort, The dark Lord, He-who-must-not-be-named, Tom Riddle the most feared dark wizard to ever grace the world vanished. He just simply ceased to exist. There was a collective gasp from those assembled and then they fled. The war was at an end.  
Harry stood there for a few minutes and then fell to his knees. That took a lot out of him, too much. That night the world would celebrate their peace, but a few would mourn the loss of their friend. A trickle of blood ran from his nose and he toppled forward onto the cold, harsh floor. His breathing stilled and the only sound that existed in that miserable place was the slight rustle of the bats.  
  
Thank you for your time. 


End file.
